


Reflection

by tententen



Series: In Need Of [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tententen/pseuds/tententen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was different in almost every way, and yet she felt familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was a pillar of hope for a faith she didn’t believe in. She had the weight of Thedas on her shoulders, and yet she did not waver. He knew it wasn’t an option, but as close as they had become, he had yet to see any cracks in her resolve. She was just one woman, a single elf who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The gossip was natural. Mysticism enveloped her every deed, making her so much more than the young elf he argued with at the war table and avoided when she was in a particularly sour mood. No matter what truth they discovered about the circumstance of her mark, no matter how ordinarily misfortunate she happened to be… He saw her as so much more.

Even now, taking a break to clear his head and observe the forces below from where he stood on the battlements, her movements were hypnotic. She walked with an easy grace, meandering past sparring templars and new recruits, her deep auburn curls fluttering with her quick pace. She paused near a merchant’s cart, standing for a moment with her head tipped sideways. Listening, he imagined, to the people he could see conversing on the other side. He couldn’t make out her expression from so far away, but she rolled her shoulders abruptly and lifted her chin, turning her head slowly, searching the battlements. Cullen straightened when her gaze fell on him. He glanced down at his hands, hoping to look preoccupied, but they were empty, and he was alone. No matter what excuse he thought to make, it was obvious he had been watching her.

Her lips quirked - a brief, tiny smile appearing when she realized she caught Cullen. Isala hadn’t been looking for him at first, but the reflection of his armor caught her eye. She tracked the shine of his metal as he retreated back into his office, and made her way towards the steps to follow. “Inquisitor,” Lace greeted as Isala passed. She returned the dwarf’s smile before bounding up the stone steps two at a time, slipping into the office without knocking and waiting for Cullen’s permission to enter.

“Inquisitor,” he started, turning to face her. Isala arched her brows at him, waiting for him to continue. Cullen cleared his throat instead, a gloved hand kneading nervously at the back of his neck.

“Cullen,” she greeted.

“I was getting some fresh air.”

“What?”

“I was outside… Getting some air.”

“Oh.” Isala blinked before shrugging carelessly. Had she been looking at him now, she would have noticed the blush creeping across his cheeks and taken the initiative to tease him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the overwhelming stack of papers on his desk. She approached them, pressing her palms against the wooden top of his desk and leaning forward before lifting her eyes to regard Cullen where he stood, watching her quietly. She glanced back down at the papers, turning her body slightly in an attempt to read the script. “You can address me by name, Cullen.” She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest, glancing up at him as she straightened. “I understand the need for formality when others are present, but I… I like my name.”

“Yes, it...” Cullen had practiced it enough times, trying to get the inflection just right. "It's a lovely name, Isala'nehn." He couldn't help feeling some delight at the surprised glance gave him. Isala’nehn was a pet name for her among her clan. In need of joy. _I think it’s funny_ , she had said. He had asked her if that meant her parents had needed joy or if she did. His question had been met with silence before she had finally answered that it must have depended on the person addressing her. Cullen had needed joy for some time. Perhaps that meant he needed her.

“I don’t mean to be… Rude... Forward? I don’t mean to be so forward with you, it’s only…” She reached up to scratch the back of her head. Cullen furrowed his brows when he noticed that her ears were pressed flat against the sides of her skull. Everything else about her stance spoke to her being defensive. He’d come to learn to be observant of behavior during his years as a templar. Agitated mages were never a good thing. An agitated Inquisitor never bode well for him, either.

“Is something wrong?” His attention wavered, back to her face to take in her features. Her nose was wrinkled, warping the thin veins of the golden vallaslin on her face.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I-... perhaps I’m homesick,” Isala mused, glancing towards the door before looking back at him. “You must know, I understand responsibility. I didn’t _ask_ for this responsibility, but I know… I was training to care for my clan. I’m going to become… I was...” She squinted, her gaze fixed on something past Cullen’s head. What were the odds of her ever seeing her people again? What were the odds of her surviving all of this? “I was training to care for my clan,” Isala repeated firmly.

“As your Keeper’s First,” Cullen recited. She’d told him as much once before, when the two of them were playing chess, when she felt it necessary to boast about how she came to acquire her skills for the game. He'd been surprised by her, opening up to speak more enthusiastically. She’d told him about getting her vallaslin and being terrified that she’d cry. She used to cry at all sorts of things when she was young. Dead butterflies, ruined gardens, mean taunts…

Looking at her now, he became overwhelmed by her youth. She was still navigating the difficulties of adulthood when she had been sent to the Conclave. He understood her position all too well, having too big a responsibility thrust upon him and rising to the occasion, sacrificing certain luxuries of youth in order to do his job. Childish mistakes were catastrophic. It aged a person's soul, and looking at Isala some days felt like peering into a warped mirror. She was brighter than him and kinder than he ever had been. She was different in almost every way, and yet she felt familiar.

Even having that in common, there still remained a number if differences between them, things he knew would brew into conflict if he thought about them enough to confront them. She was Dalish, a mage - an apostate, and outspoken against much of his military opinion. He had grown to learn the error of his ways, opened his mind to the reality that he had denounced the humanity and morality of people who were as much and more the victim of their talents as he could ever be, but he still had his faults, and he couldn’t blame her if she had difficulty accepting his past.

“Yes,” Isala agreed at length. “I was still… I was still a person. People talked to me. They knew me. I know I don’t… _know_ your people, not personally. They don’t know me. I understand why everyone uses titles, why I have to be an idea and not an individual, but with you, at least, I would like to be... “ Isala sighed. She hadn’t come to him for this. She’d wanted to go into further detail about something he’d mentioned at the war table the day before, but she couldn’t keep being the Inquisitor. Not to him, not always.

“You’d like to be yourself,” Cullen inferred. She nodded. He observed her quietly as she looked at him, her blue eyes cautious. They were an interesting color, an honest blue with a very present ring of brown on the outside of her iris. She looked away from him, unfolding her arms and straightening as if planning to make for the door. "How is your garden doing?"

Isala had trouble not looking confused at the question. “Well enough, thank you.” She'd only mentioned her garden when asking if it would be possible for the soldiers he dispatched to gather some seeds as well as minerals. She'd only wanted a few, to try and plant something, but Cullen had dismissed her. Isala wasn't offended. He was preoccupied at the time. If anything, she feared he could tell what a selfish gesture it had been, and being dismissed had been a better alternative to being chastised. "I've tended to the soil. It's properly fertilized."

"You just need a plant, I take it?" Cullen smiled at her nod and crouched down suddenly. He'd caught her coming from the courtyard looking dejected as of late. It wasn't much, but now that she had admitted to feeling homesick, he hoped his gift could provide her some happiness. Isala leaned over the top of the desk to watch him and exhaled softly as he straightened to reveal a potted sapling. "I doubt this is very impressive, but the merchant assured me it will grow to be quite the sight."

"When did you..." Isala laughed softly as Cullen offered her the pot. She accepted it eagerly, holding it against her chest and grinning shyly. "I thought you... Thank you." He accepted her appreciation with a small nod. "This is perfect," she beamed, shifting the pot to hold against her hip before raising herself to the tips of her toes to press a soft kiss against his cheek. "Are you busy? Would you like to plant it with me?"

"Oh, well, I-" Cullen stammered helplessly. "I've never had much of a green thumb. I’m afraid I’d be of no help to you."

"You have to help. It’s custom. I'll do all the work," Isala promised.

It was difficult to deny her such a simple request, especially when she watched him with her eager eyes. The delight on her face was infectious, and the thought of spending even a few moments in her company without the threat of an argument or Corypheus souring the mood was worth doing anything for her. "All right," Cullen agreed, moving to open the door. He gestured for her to exit first. "Don't be upset with me if something happens to your tree."

"She'll be fine," Isala enthused. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually going somewhere, I promise :/

Isala was vaguely apologetic for subjecting Cullen to such scrutiny, but there was nothing gossip worthy about what they were doing. It was a natural custom among the Dalish, and one that usually took place between two people who cared deeply for one another. She had never had the pleasure of doing it quite like this before, in public. She fought to ignore the stares of silent observers, but so far it was just as satisfying. It could be strenuous, Isala knew that much, but Cullen was taking his time for the sake of being proper. She supposed the Commander did look somewhat comedic, though, scooping out handfuls of dirt under her direction. He refrained from complaining, and she took the decency to keep her expression straight, despite how foolish he looked digging in a patch of dirt in full armor.

"Is that all right?" Cullen sat back on his knees and waited as Isala inspected the hole.

"That seems deep enough." Isala crouched next to him and gently coaxed the plant out from its pot. She took a moment to appreciate the tree’s thin roots before she set the plant down in the hole Cullen dug and instructed him to fill it once more.

"Might I ask what sort of custom this is, exactly?"

"It's..." Isala paused to study him. "The gift of a living plant is... It's symbolic. It means... You want to start a life with someone. You want to be... Creators," she swore lightly, shaking her head as she tried again. "When you present the plant you say 'may this grow as long as you are in my life.' And then, you plant it with the person to ensure a lasting relationship - happiness and good health, and all. It’s a very… It’s a very serious gesture. I-I’m not… I'm not holding you to it. I know you didn’t mean it like-" Isala furrowed her brows at Cullen's expression, deflating when she realized she had utterly failed in her explanation, and had Keeper Istimaethoriel been present, the woman would have been severely disappointed. “You’re not Dalish.”

“I’m aware.”

"Did you expect it to be bad?"

"The custom? No, certainly not, not with how much you've been smiling since we left my office." Cullen blinked steadily as Isala's ears quivered and she glanced away from him. "I found it charming," he assured her, turning his head from her and biting his lip to stifle his amusement at her embarrassment. It was almost jarring, the transition she made from sharp tongued debater to hesitant young woman. She obviously had experience defending her opinion but he had to wonder, when it came to infatuation. Not that he had much room for judgement when it came to such things - he was painfully aware of how he became around her. It was still intriguing to watch her, regardless. She'd become much more open with him since Haven, but she still had reservations that he couldn't help but find captivating.  "Were you close with anyone, before you got wrapped up in all of this? You once asked me once if templars took vows. Do Keepers?"

"Only to lead and protect the history of the clan, but that’s not what you mean." She glanced at the dirt. "Keepers can have families. Their duty doesn't prevent that."

"Were you close with anyone?"

"Not really," Isala murmured, drawing patterns in the dirt with her little finger. She sighed softly and started to gently pat down the earth, smoothing it with fingers not much lighter in color. He observed her silently until she bowed her head and said something in elven that sounded like another swear. "Thank you." She brushed her palms together to rid her hands of the dirt before bracing herself to stand. Cullen caught her hands before she could finish the motion, his face hard with concentration. He brushed his thumbs over her knuckles before lifting his chin to look her in the eye.

"May this grow as long as you're in my life."

"Cullen…” She’d been touched that he’d given her the tree anyway, despite the symbolism it held in her culture. He couldn’t know what it meant, even with her shoddy explanation. She had to assume he was only being polite by making the gesture, but there was an intensity in his eyes that Isala couldn’t ignore. She couldn’t let him mistakenly give her such commitment. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Is it offensive?” Doubt and regret softened his features. It was a look Isala had caught on his face more often than she’d like to admit. “I’m sorry, if I have no right to… To say that to you.”

“It’s not offensive. It…" Isala sighed, gently tugging her hands from his grip. He looked flustered, embarrassment coloring his cheeks and forcing his gaze away from her. "I'm s- No," she corrected herself softly. She didn't have to apologize to him for misunderstanding her culture. He could be embarrassed. She had been, several times, surrounded by so many humans she didn’t quite understand. It had yet to kill either of them. Discomfort was only a brief feeling. She didn’t have to belittle her opinions for the sake of relieving Cullen from it. "This is... This is... It's similar to a proposal. Not... Not quite, depending on… It doesn't make us obligated to marry, but it means you care about me. Very strongly."

"I do."

"This is... It's a commitment. To me."

"And I'll take it gladly, if you'll have me." Cullen reached slowly for her hands again. "May this grow as long as you're in my life."

"May it prosper, and take root to weather any drought or winter." Isala expelled a soft breath before kissing Cullen. It was a sweet, chaste kiss, an innocent seal of their new commitment to one another. He hadn't had any doubts when she explained. Even before she had distinguished its difference from a marriage proposal. They were far from marriage - he was probably crazy to even try and imagine it, with how little he really knew about her - but he knew he would never come to cherish anyone like he did her. Whether that meant they one day became man and wife, he wasn't certain, but he knew he did want her in his life. It wouldn't be as bright without her.

"I should go. Josephine wanted to talk to me about something."

"Best not to keep her waiting, then."

Isala felt sick. She left Cullen in the courtyard, unable to keep the knots in her stomach at bay as she made her way to Josephine's study. She'd just planted a tree with a templar, of all people. An ex templar, but a templar nonetheless. One who still insisted the order was necessary. Cullen wasn't a delicate man. He wasn't even a worldly man. He might not every understand the depth of what he had done, but she knew what _she_  had done and she was terrified.

 


	3. Chapter 3

She looked different tonight, weariness from the battle aside. He was used to the exhausted slope of her shoulders and the defiant clenching of her jaw, but there was an energy about her that wasn't relief of exhilaration. Isala had her reservations, but she was lively - fond of climbing the battlements while holding conversation with Scout Harding below, and talking animatedly to merchants who bragged about how much of Thedas they’ve seen. He even heard rumors of her casting spells in the courtyard, “with the necromancer,” but Cullen was sure the confusion of patrons only made it sound more diabolical than it actually was, since he’d never taken Isala to have a mischievous streak. She was just… Curious. He found it part of her charm. Her curiosity wasn’t what entranced him tonight. Something about the way she carried herself amongst the whispers and kept her jaw set captivated him. He was baffled by the small minded nobles who couldn’t see that she was the most magnificent woman in the entire palace, but he was even more curious as to how such a small creature could possess such an immense store of self-assurance.

The rest of his thoughts evaporated as Isala turned to face him, her eyes flashing in the darkness. Moonlight illuminated her hair, showing off the intricate braids and the glistening jeweled flowers Vivienne had weaved into them. As Cullen got closer, he realized the flowers were real - or had once been. Some sort of magic had been used to preserve them in the gems. Throughout the night, Cullen had caught Isala tugging on her uniform. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he thought it was appealing on her figure, but she seemed agitated by it. He found he could appreciate her in anything, though he had to admit, the way the expensive material clung to her shape had caught his attention more than once during the ball. It was the smile she gave him now, though, that made his chest tight.

When Cullen asked her to dance, Isala’s immediate desire had been to say no. When she had asked him earlier, she had mostly been teasing, trying to muster up some of the confidence Vivienne’s preparations for the ball had given her. "I don't know how to dance to this music," she admitted softly after accepting his hand. The melody and pace was different than any music her clan had ever played during celebration, and the humans all seemed to have choreographed their movements ahead of time.

"That's all right," Cullen assured her. She flushed at his laugh and the grunt that soon followed when she accidentally put her weight on his toes. She tried to flee, but Cullen's grip on her waist tightened. He pulled her closer, until she could feel the heat of his chest through his uniform. She relaxed, then, completely overwhelmed by how hard he still managed to be without his armor. He was hot beneath the fancy material. Human. Obtainable. Much less intimidating than he was with his armor. "I'd say we're doing quite well," Cullen murmured. The swayed together, enjoying holding one another rather than actually dancing, but Isala didn't mind. The song changed, but they kept the pace they established before. It was safer for their feet, even if Isala felt strange moving so slowly to a quicker beat. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you?" She didn't expect Cullen's question - it didn't seem like a time for conversation and it took most of her energy just to keep her eyes open - but his words hung in the cool night air, agitating her into something resembling proper consciousness.

Isala wished she could control the reflexive movements of her ears. She knew Cullen had learned to observe them. The attention he gave them made her self conscious. He couldn't know enough to read every tiny twitch she made - he hadn't been born in a clan and humans typically didn't have eyes for such things - but he concentrated. He was a determined man. Isala had been able to tell as much when she first met him. It was just another thing that had intimidated her, but now she had come to admire the trait. He was doing well by the Inquisition, and he was trying to do well by her. She'd noticed him reading up on the Dalish. He had an obscure journal written by some human who had tried to observe a wandering clan. It was probably laughably inaccurate, but Cullen's attempt to learn was somewhat adorable. “Isala?”

"Yes," she sighed softly against his chest, her eyelashes fluttering at the sound of his voice. He was the only thing keeping her upright.

"Is there any particular reason?"

"I still don't know what to make of you," Isala murmured. "I've come to care for you. It's the first time it's ever been reciprocated, these feelings, and you... You are not the person I ever thought I could care about like this. It's been unexpected."

"I would think everything since the Conclave has been unexpected," Cullen pointed out. "Unexpected...and yet you don't retreat from your duties."

"People will die if I do. No harm will befall you, if I avoid you. You certainly won't die."

"I might," Cullen murmured softly.

"No," Isala denied tiredly. "Misplaced infatuation is at worst, a bruise on your ego.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to call this misplaced infatuation,” he mused, flexing his fingers against hers before restoring his grip on her. He smirked to himself as he teased " I did give you a plant after all."

“Well,” she huffed softly. “Heartbreak doesn't kill often." "There's always an exception."

"You're too strong for that. As am I. We're strong people." Isala muffled her yawn against the collar of Cullen’s uniform before nestling against him. "Like druffalos with nice skin."

"What?"

"You're a like handsome draffalo, with golden hair. Maybe not quite golden. The Warden, Alistair. Alistair has golden hair. Yours is a bit less..."

"You don't like my hair?"

"No, I _love_ it," Isala protested softly, mumbling disjointedly. "I love your nose and your lips and how... Josephine... I love quite a bit about you."

"Oh." Cullen stopped dancing and hastened to collect Isala as she started sliding down towards the floor. He laughed helplessly as he gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet, jostling her enough to wake her. "It's all right," he soothed, laughing again as she glanced around quickly, her fists raised as though intending to beat away an attacker. "You fell asleep."

"How embarrassing." Isala pressed her hands against his chest as she stabilized herself and sighed. "Creators." She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, digging her fingers into his muscles. Cullen would have found the blatant show of arousal attractive if he wasn't so amused by how forward her exhaustion made her. She could have still been asleep for all he knew. He had heard Dorian's disgusted complaints to Vivienne that the Inquisitor slept with her eyes open, and with how often she tuned him out, it might have been an unnerving talent of hers. “Oh,” she glanced around. “We’re still at the palace.”

"Do you remember the druffalos?"

"Druffalos? Where?"

"Never mind." Cullen smiled to himself as he fingered one of the shining roses in her hair. He arched his brows at the noticeable drooping of her ears. “Shall we gather the others and return to Skyhold?”


End file.
